


Daily Grind-- Laundry

by squirrellysemantics



Series: Daily Grind [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M, PWP, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:42:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirrellysemantics/pseuds/squirrellysemantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An utter PWP. The guys do laundry. set sometime during AC2 This might become a thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daily Grind-- Laundry

It was not a surprise that Shaun was a condescending prick even with a cock up his ass.

“Do you need me to write out instructions?” That was accompanied by an insistent buck of the hips that left Desmond cross eyed. “In cartoon form, if you like. Nice bright colors so even you can figure it out.”

On the whole, Desmond liked to think he got positive feedback from anyone he happened to be diddling. A++ Would fuck again. But pissing off Shaun was pretty much a force of habit.

Fun as hell, too.

  
Besides, with Shaun’s glasses relegated to a safe place, the guy’s normal glare became this beady eyed little squint, giving him a nose crinkle when he was particularly pissed that was actually kinda cute.

Not that Desmond would say that out loud. He liked not having his teeth knocked in.

These little rendezvous had started small by necessity. Not that the ladies hadn’t clued in after catching Shaun using Desmond to practice some ball juggling that one morning.

But long days and longer nights of work didn’t leave much chance for anything else. Not when they were trying to beat the clock.

A giant, world destroying, end of everything as we know it clock.

So it had started with a little jerkoff here, a quick blowie there. The first time had just sort of…. happened. Neither would ever admit who started it but what had begun as another run of the mill, ordinary crabfest had ended in some serious tonsil sucking and a generous helping of jizz.

Now, it was open season. Like what they couldn’t manage in duration they made up for in frequency. Anytime, any place. Shaun seemed to take particular pride in finding new locations to bang. Sort of like sex geocaching.

Today was laundry day.

“Patience… is a… virtue,” Desmond managed, punctuating his words with a few shallow thrusts.

The washing machine was tiny by American standards, but it had plenty of room for one particularly skinny ass of an English variety. It was noisy enough to cover a myriad of sins. Desmond dragged the legs wrapped around his waist a little closer to the edge so he could sin a little more.

Shaun gasped out an “idiot!”, leaning back to hit a proper rhythm but had no traction on slippery metal. “Twat!”

Desmond made a mental note to epoxy on some handholds or something.

You know.

For next time.

He came back to reality after “absolute wanker!”

“It that all you got?” Desmond offered with just a smirk. “You’re not even trying.”

“Less talking!” Shaun demanded, locking his heels as if Desmond was trying to escape. “More f- fu-fucking!”

Oh god. Stutterfucking just became a new favorite thing.

Easing himself forward, Desmond quite literally hit bottom with aching slowness. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?” Staying still would have been just a little more perfect but his hips moved in small circles of their own accord. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Even with trembling thighs, Shaun still retained a modicum of coherence. “Worthless b-oh, god, you b-bastard! How you manage to shave without k-k-killing yourself is a bloody miracle-”

Desmond ignored the fingers digging into the small of his back. Instead, he shoved a rumpled shirt a little higher and bowed his head. “Can you repeat that?” he asked softly, speaking to the nipple between his teeth. “Didn’t catch it the first time.”

“Shit!” was what he got in return and that was good enough.

He only needed another minute by the looks of things.

Good thing he had a nice distraction in front of him. He roused Shaun back to hardness with a few teasing strokes, getting the man flailing, writhing, shaking- pretty much doing anything he could to get some friction. Desmond otherwise remained still, mouthing sweat wherever it pooled.

The cry from Shaun when it came ended up being more of a wail. “What the hell are you waiting for?”

“The spin cycle.” There was a small click. The machine’s innocent vibrations kicked into a relentless rhythm and so did Desmond.

In the end, Shaun agreed they needed to do laundry much more often.


End file.
